


Standard Operating Procedures

by taichara



Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:05:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7561558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zero's Hunting routine gets a bit of an unexpected wrinkle this time out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standard Operating Procedures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalloway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalloway/gifts).



In a flash, it was all over. It took just one swift strike to bring the Maverick down once they'd been cornered, a small mercy Zero was willing to grant even after bringing his target to bay in an abandoned subterranean warehouse -- and _that_ was after chasing the fool through thirty city blocks and too many sub-metro tunnels to count. Just one strike, and then he socketed his sabre back into the charger and crouched to survey his work.

Really, after all that effort it was almost _disappointment_ as much as mercy ... but then again, the fool in battered bruise-purple armour currently bleeding out fluids and coolant at his feet wasn't much of a scrapper to begin with. It took a special kind of coward to slaughter that many innocents -- Reploid and human both -- using chemical sprays and explosives, controlled remotely. Zero's lip curled. The bastard even used drones against him during the chase instead of fighting back.

_Couldn't even lower yourself to get your hands dirty, eh, Bounder?_

_Well, the joke's on you now, isn't it._

A few more sputters, a twitch or two, from the hapless Bounder, and the Maverick went still. Zero blinked once and brought analytic systems to bear; the bastard was dead. 

Time to get to work, then.

Zero, like many Hunters, had long since developed his own post-Hunt routine for cleanup. Before anything else -- before the last spark fired, even -- he needed to find, and disable if necessary, anything that could be a dead man's switch. Cutting free any communications systems and identifiable data recording cells was the second step, the organelles promptly stowed into dimension pockets for the Navigators to pick over in the hopes of finding any sign of collusion, fellow lunatics or simply final messages. 

Notable markings or badges, unusual body mods or weapon implants (not in Bounder's case, but those usually happened), anything of interest he came across, Zero also made note of. If it was really unusual, he mentioned it in the constant tac-link he kept up with the Navigator assigned to his shift. A second link, more passive at the moment, informed him X was just about to corner his own target.

_Good. That gives me time._

It was all very predictable, all very routine. The next step, considerably less so. 

Zero pulled his sabre free again, the settings so low that the blade was little more than a glorified kitchen knife, and set to work. Bounder's outer plating he sheared free with a few practiced flicks of his wrist before burying the sabre -- and his free hand -- into the dead Maverick's torso. Within minutes he'd worked free power matrices, fluid-filled feeder lines (with a pang of regret for what already spilled across the mildewed floor), pseudodermis, synthetic muscles ... 

All Hunters claimed their pound of flesh in the end, but Zero took that old saw to its literal conclusion.

For all their lack of outward sophistication, Bounder turned out to be a highly-tuned body beneath their purple shell, and Zero had to work to pay attention to his Navigator's exchanges while he bolted his meal. Not another drop of nanite-laced ichor was going to go to waste, though; he licked his fingers almost daintly, sweeping the smears and droplets from his own crimson armour --

"Zero?"

He stilled. X was directly behind him -- no more than maybe ten, fifteen feet away, peripheral sensors informed him -- and there was no mistaking that wary, uneasy, questioning note. 

_No sense turning around while I'm wearing dinner. This is going to get messy enough anyway._

"Yes?"

One step closer, then another, heavy footfalls across the dirty warehouse floor. No other sounds, though. That was a good sign, since it meant that there wasn't a buster being charged directly behind his head. Not that Zero thought X would do that, necessarily, but. But.

"Are you ...?"

He couldn't help a dismissive snort.

"If you're about to say 'eating some bastard Maverick's corpse' or anything else along those lines, yes."

He couldn't help the sigh that followed, either.

"Yes, X, that's exactly what I'm doing."

Another slow patter of steps and X's shadow fell over him. Still no obvious tension -- did X actually have his hands tucked behind him? -- and Zero continued on, and waited. A small, indecipherable noise escaped his partner before X found his voice again.

"Why?"

So many questions packed into one word. Zero decided to just cut the Gordian knot and get it over with.

"Because it keeps the beast at bay, and it's not causing any damage to do it. Because no one's going to ask questions about mangled Mavericks and the bastards deserve worse anyway.

"Because it feels _right_."

"This isn't new, is it."

Less a question than a simple statement; Zero shook his head anyway.

"Always been a thing, off and on, and that shouldn't surprise you, you know how I got to the Hunters in the first place. It's been more of a thing since the Fifth, though -- and _that_ shouldn't be a surprise either."

One step, now, and X shifted posture. Arms crossed now, unless Zero missed his guess.

"No, it isn't. Not really. And, I suppose ...

"... Bounder was dead before you started, right?"

_Now_ Zero did look back at X, whipping his head around violently enough to snap his hair across the mangled Bounder and the bloody patch pooled around them --

"Of course they were! I'm not _that_ much of a savage, damn it!"

\-- then he twisted back again, twitching with tension of his own, and waiting. Waiting for ... he wasn't sure, really. For X to explode with condemnations, the way he carried on before and after the Seventh? For a murmur of regret and the whine of a buster? For something else ...?

A hand suddenly came to rest on his shoulder. 

"Let's go back to HQ. I tagged Racer, so we both have reports to fill -- and I just _know_ how much you love paperwork. Do you have Bounder's comms?"

Calm, cheerful, a tinge of regret when he spoke the Maverick's names; X sounded fine. Sounded normal. Zero surged to his feet and met X's gaze -- and saw nothing but tired humour, and patience. 

Everything was normal.

"Yeah. Bastard's got some interesting subsystems, I'll show you the specs later.

"Race you back?"


End file.
